Happy New Year. Happy 2008.
It's amazing how the urge-- no, the compulsion --to write has waned in me since I got married. It is as if I never possessed it in the first place, like I have always been indifferent to any literary aspirations.
I cannot blame it on being busy or preoccupied with other things, because in the past I always managed to make time even for the most trivial blog entries or notebook scribblings. There is so much to write about in this new life I am living: My wife is quite simply the most amazing person I have ever met, and every day she and I grow together as well as individually. One day I will find the motivation to translate our relationship to the written word, but for now I am basking in the glow of our love.
Sentimental words for the likes of me, yes? I don't deny this. I am not ashamed to be in love and committed to one person. I guess it's all I ever really wanted and needed. Not that everything else I used to fill my life with was unimportant or meaningless-- rather, I feel like it all led up to our meeting. All of it-- the joy, the pain, the laughter, the adventures, the sorrow, the outrage, the lessons to be learned either easily or the hard way --was a prelude to this moment that I exist in currently.
I think of times when I had Writer's Block or I didn't have the focus to sit down and write/type something out, and they were always desperate periods in my life. They were informed by depression or sadness or anger, even frustration. I sometimes forced myself to write, to purge it all like some kind of paragraph bulimic. I find that on those forced occasions a metaphor such as bulimia is apt: I thought it was doing some good, based upon distorted preconceptions that I had about myself. Like an 80-lb waif with an eating disorder, I never seemed satisfied with my current state of affairs, no matter how emaciated and undernourished I was in reality.
But in this case, my sickness was spiritual, not physical. I did not look in a mirror and project the image of fat onto a skeletal frame; instead I looked into my soul and found malaise while ignoring the beauty that was struggling to rise to the surface.
To bring the metaphor full circle, I guess you can say that I am eating right for once in my life. My appetites are healthy and my attitude towards myself is one of respect and acceptance.
I think about the times when I vented my fury in this blog. I chastised readers for not commenting; I changed the names of real people then proceeded to detail their lives in accusatory tones; I engaged in feuds with people I had never even met in real life. It all seems pathetic and sad in hindsight, but each blog that I composed-- for better or for worse --was necessary for my mental health. I bared my soul in these blog entries. Sometimes I held back, but more often than not I let loose in a way that I had rarely done in my private writings.
Overall, I am proud of this minor achievement. I am not done with writing, nor am I done with blogging... but if there's anyone out there that still stops by here to read what I have to say, let me just state for the record that for the time being I am taking the time I normally spent slaving away at a keyboard and putting it toward another use. It's not a better use of my time, and it's not a lesser exertion of energy either. It's just something different, a change of pace if you will.
I think that I have found something more important than a blog.
Writing is still important to me, and my new wife sees nothing wrong or inappropriate about the blog or my novel (which I am also lagging on, for the same reasons that I have neglected my blog). She would never stand in the way of my pursuit of enlightenment via the written word, whether it be in print or online. But she is not as consistent with her internet browsing, so in a way I find myself blogging less because the one person I would really like to read it doesn't devote as much time as I do cruising cyberspace. And that's okay with me, because she is really the one person in my life now whose opinion matters to me the most.
So I am not calling it quits or throwing in the towel. Instead I am taking a semi-break from this. I will try to do it once a month, so as not to get rusty or find myself without an occasional outlet. I cannot predict what kind of content I will focus on in the future, whether or not it will be personal or impersonal or a mixture of both, but I can say confidently that my life right now is functioning fine... and maybe it will take time for me to get back into the swing of things.
I have been convinced for most of my life that I could not write unless there was pain or trouble in my heart, so I will look upon this new path I am on as a challenge, to see if I can write in the absence of misery and turmoil. I think I can, but it will be like starting all over from scratch. Forgive me if I get sappy or maudlin or sentimental or even mushy. I will make an effort to not sound like a lovestruck freak gloating over how he won the romance lottery.
I will end this entry with this: When I was beginning my adolescence, I started to take writing seriously but I hadn't learned anything yet. My first forays into writing were plagiarizing and embellishing on my favorite song lyrics and passing them off as love poems. But after a while, I made a promise to take a different tack when composing odes to whoever was my beloved at the time. I told myself that if I ever wrote a love song, I would refrain from using the word 'love' so as not to fall prey to cliches and pat pronouncements. I did a pretty good job of it, but now is the time to explore the public domain of pop cultural consciousness.
In other words, I think it's alright if I use the word 'love' from now on. I give myself permission to do so, and I hope that I can find a way to do it without succumbing to cheese and schmaltz.
I hope that any readers I still have will enjoy this new year as it unfolds, and if they don't have any comments to leave then that's just nifty. I can finally leave well enough alone and not make unrealistic demands. I know you all have your lives to live... and I have mine.
Take care.
